


papa says harry potter helps people

by jilliancares



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Draco Malfoy is a dad, Getting Together, M/M, Rimming, a really good cute dad, also there's smut, harry is a shop owner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 10:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14376423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jilliancares/pseuds/jilliancares
Summary: Draco Malfoy is reintroduced into Harry's life when a little boy enters his shop, lost. The same little boy upends all his bookshelves, which Draco holds himself responsible for. It all kind of escalates from there.





	papa says harry potter helps people

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shellstain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shellstain/gifts).



> this was commissioned by the lovely @shellstain !!! <333
> 
> it's been much too long since i've written drarry, i really hope you enjoy!!!

A tinkling rang through the air as the door opened, drawing Harry away from the thick ledger he’d been bent over. He didn’t count his stock and verify his sales as often as he should, but that was because it was boring, grueling work. He lost interest too easily, and losing interest meant losing his spot, which meant starting all over again…

Part of Harry regretted looking away from the book, but the rest of him was all too eager for a distraction, so he looked up and greeted the customer. “Welcome to The Nook, how can I help you?”

Except, it wasn’t really a customer — it was a kid. A little kid, about six or seven-ish, with messy blond hair paired with his mismatching outfit: green wizarding robes over a bright pink button up and blue dress pants. The little boy was looking around with interest, and it seemed like he hadn’t registered Harry’s words, too distracted by the other interests of Harry’s shop.

It was his pride and joy, his little store. It was a book store, mainly, but there were also all kinds of toys and trinkets up front, and he taught classes some Fridays for young witches and wizards, like preliminary potion making and muggle technology.

The boy finally noticed Harry at the counter, his face lighting up. He immediately strode in his direction, face set in determination. He stopped in front of the counter, head barely reaching over it, and grabbed onto the edges.

“Hello,” the boy said, rather politely. “Papa says Harry Potter owns this shop.”

Harry looked up, trying to see if this boy’s father seemed to be anywhere outside the glass windows, but he couldn’t find anyone resembling him.

“He’s right,” Harry informed, resting his elbows on the counter and leaning forward. “That’d be me.”

The boy let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, good,” he said. “Then you can help me. Papa says Harry Potter helps people.”

“I do indeed,” Harry agreed, smiling back when the boy grinned up at him, clearly relieved.

“Papa says that if we ever get separated in Diagon Alley, to stay put so he can find me. But I came here instead, because you’re Harry Potter.”

“Don’t you think you should’ve listened to your dad?” Harry asked. “He’s probably retracing his steps right now, looking for you.”

“I didn’t wanna stay put,” the boy pouted, crossing his arms and looking down at his feet. “I mean, I wasn’t _scared_ , hafing to be all by myself.” Harry took this to mean the exact opposite, though he still nodded seriously.

“All right,” Harry said, “I’ll help you find your dad. You can wait here until he comes for you.” With that, Harry sent out all three of his in-store owls, usually saved for deliveries, so that they could carry along a message to the other shop owners along Diagon Alley. Soon enough, should this kid’s dad walk into any store looking for his son, he’d be informed that he was down at The Nook.

After sending the owls, Harry sat back down to notice the boy still looking around with interest. He spoke up without prompting. “You don’t have a fireplace,” he pointed out.

“I do not,” Harry agreed.

“So where’s your broom?”

“I keep my broom at home.”

“Then how do you get here?”  
“I Apparate.”

This made the boy frown. “Papa says if we Ap’rate everywhere my head’ll shrink.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s right,” Harry agreed, amused, and the boy beamed up at Harry. Just then, the door burst open. Harry first registered that the man looked completely flustered, only moments before he registered that the man was Draco Malfoy.

“Oh, Scorpius,” he sighed, voice so full of relief it was tangible.

“Papa!” the boy — Scorpius — cheered, turning tail to jump into his father’s arms, who pressed his face into his son’s shoulder, one hand securing his body and the other petting over his head.

“You had me so worried,” Draco said, swaying his body just enough that Scorpius’ legs dangled from side to side in the air. He looked up, finally, apparently registering the fact that Harry was there, and his face flushed pink. He set Scorpius down, who clung to his robe and was already running his mouth about the adventure he’d had and how he’d met _Harry Potter, Papa!_

“Potter,” Draco said graciously, stepping further into the shop somewhat awkwardly and peering around the place. He’d never been in here before, Harry knew that much. “Thank you for looking after him, I hope he wasn’t any trouble —”

“Oh, not at all,” Harry said hastily, shaking his head. “He was great. Really polite.”

A relieved smile made its way across Draco’s face and he looked down at Scorpius, something like pride edging its way through his features.

“Harry Potter Ap’rates everywhere, Papa,” Scorpius informed importantly. “His head’s gonna explode.”

“ _Shrink_ ,” Draco corrected. “And I’m sure it is. He should stop, if he doesn’t want his brain to get any smaller than it already is.”

Harry gaped, offended, but Draco just shot him an amused little smirk and ushered Scorpius towards the door. “We should be getting home,” he announced, seemingly equally directed at Harry and his son. And then, “Honestly, I agree to let you dress yourself and you go running off…”

“I didn’t go running off!” Scorpius protested, but his argument was soon muffled by the door closing behind him. Draco glanced into the shop one last time and Harry offered a wave before they were gone.

And then he sank down in his chair, thinking.

He hadn’t seen Draco for years. Not sense he’d shown up at Harry’s doorstep shortly after the war, drenched in rain and in the middle of the night. He’d apologized — for everything — and when Harry had forgiven him, he’d seen the weight of the world lift off the other man’s shoulders. He’d Apparated away with a tired smile and Harry had set the occurrence aside in his mind, casually wondering if Draco was on something and deciding that he wasn’t quite the man he’d thought he was.

Even without that apology, Harry would’ve forgiven him. He’d forgiven everyone. He’d forgiven friends and strangers and enemies. He’d forgiven Ginny, who hadn’t wanted to get back together with him after the war. Later, he’d thanked her for not letting him follow that path simply because it seemed like he was supposed to. And also because… Well, without a steady girlfriend, there was really nothing keeping him from going out at night, from connecting with different individuals in all sorts of different ways. And there was nothing keeping these individuals from being men, either.

With finality, Harry pushed his thoughts aside and decided to stop dwelling on it. Seeing Draco Malfoy, alive and well and with a son, had been a surprise, sure, but it was no reason to get his banshies in a bunch. It was just… interesting, was all. And it was even more interesting to know that, at least at some point, Draco had talked about him.

_Papa says Harry potter owns this shop. Papa says Harry Potter helps people._

For some reason, a grin found its way across Harry’s face. He ignored it as best he could, trying to stamp out its presence by pulling his stupid ledger back in front of him, but even that failed to shake the smile. Finally, he managed to convince himself that it’d been years since he’d last seen Draco and would likely be years before he ever saw him again.

—

It wasn’t years before Harry saw Draco again. In fact, it wasn’t even months. A mere two weeks later, Draco once again graced The Nook with his presence — using “graced” in the loosest of terms, of course.

Harry was involved with another customer at the time, an old woman that was threatening to drive him insane with the whining quality of her voice and the absolute absurdity of her requests.

The door chimed open and Harry spared a glance for the new arrivals, some part in the back of his mind noting that it was once again Draco and his son, before the woman’s nails-on-chalkboard voice was pulling him back in again.

“I don’t understand why you won’t let me return my book!” she snapped, pushing the book — both moldy and falling apart at the seams — further across the counter, as if putting it in closer proximity to Harry would convince him to take it off her hands.

“As I just told you, Ma’am,” Harry tried again. “You didn’t purchase this book from my shop.”

“Well of course I did!” the lady snapped. “I bought it here just last week!”

“You didn’t come in at all last week,” Harry pointed out. He should know, he was here every day. “And I’ve never stocked that book, anyway.”

“I am sick of your attitude,” the woman growled, and she snatched her disgusting book off the counter and tucked it under her arm. “I’ll be taking my business _elsewhere_!” She turned and stomped out of the shop, making Harry deflate with the absence of her presence.

“Charming woman,” Draco piped up, reminding Harry of his presence. He straightened back up, smiling his usual customer service smile, and sighed between his teeth.

“That’s not even the first time that’s happened. Anyway, what can I help you with?”

Draco had inched his way closer to the counter, now leaning against the opposite side of it while Scorpius intently examined a sneak-o-scope-like object, except it detected the presence of sweets instead of the presence of evil. “Scorp’s looking for a book,” Draco explained. He eyed the counter in front of Harry, now slimy from the moldy book’s contamination, and Draco vanished the mess with an absent-minded wave of his wand. “And he insisted we come here, you know. Seeing as he and Harry Potter are such great friends now.” He said this with an intentional look at Scorpius, who lit up.

“We _are_ ,” he insisted, crossing his arms and glaring determinedly up at his dad. “Right, Mr. Harry?” he said hopefully.

“Too right,” Harry immediately agreed, and Scorpius’s face lit up. He immediately scampered past the counter and into the aisles of books, Draco watching him with fond amusement etched onto his face.

“I didn’t know you had a son,” Harry said conversationally. Draco looked up at him, surprised.

“Really?” he said. “It was all over the papers, in the beginning. People thought he should be taken from my custody, that I’d raise him as a Death Eater.”

Harry frowned. “Shit like that’s why I don’t read the papers,” he said.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Why does that sound exactly like something you’d do?”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that, but just when he’d opened his mouth to say something anyway, there came a shout from inside the stacks. “Papa! Come here, you have to see this!”

“It’s not polite to shout,” Draco called back, still looking amused. And then, so slowly it was at first hard to notice, one of the bookshelves began to tip. They were gigantic, reaching up almost all the way to the tops of the high ceilings, and what really drew attention to this one falling was the way the books started rattling in their shelves, before one or two fell out and tumbled to the ground.

“Oh my God,” Harry said, realizing what was happening a split-second before Draco, and at once they were both sprinting away from the counter, skidding along the wooden floor and tripping into one of the aisles. The first shelf hit another with a thunderous _boom_ , books raining down on their heads and backs.

Scorpius was crouched down on the other end of the aisle, looking fearful with his arms covering his head.

“Scorpius!” Draco called out, as another _boom_  rent the air, books _still_  somehow raining from the shelf above them.

Harry reached Scorpius first, practically covering his body with his own, and he reached up and wrenched Draco into a squat beside them. He flicked his wrist, conjuring a tight, sturdy shield around the three of them, finally stopping the cascade of books from hitting them any longer.

Wandless magic wasn’t something he usually flaunted, a practice he employed only when he was with like, Ron and Hermione, but emergencies were emergencies and his wand was across the room. Both he and Draco were panting, more from adrenaline and fear than exhaustion, and Scorpius was clinging to Harry tightly with tiny fists, eyes wide and tearful.

The _boom, boom, boom_ ing of the shelves falling finally stopped, indicating them finally reaching the opposite wall, though the sound of books raining from them continued. Draco reached for Scorpius and pulled him into a tight hug, letting out a sigh into his hair. “How did that even happen?” he murmured.

Scorpius, sniffling, muttered, “I wanted a book up top…”

And that might do it. Depending on how high he’d climbed and where exactly he’d put his weight, coupled with the fact that these bookshelves followed the laws of magic rather than the laws of physics, meant that it was plausible for the shelves to have fallen in this fashion.

“Oh, Scorpius…” Draco looked up at Harry, expression pained. “I swear I’ll help you clean this up,” he promised, looking down the aisle they were in, completely littered in books.

“Hey, it was an accident —” Harry began, trying to brush him off, but Draco shook his head firmly.

“No, I’ll help you put this back in order. I repay my debts, Potter.”

“Harry,” Harry corrected, shrugging when Draco gave him a quizzical look. “If you’re gonna be abiding by my crazy shelving system, you might as well call me Harry.”

—

The thing about thinking about the war was Harry _didn’t_. So many people had died, so many people had ended up scarred, both physically and mentally, and it was so much easier to not think about any of it. To not dwell on all that had happened, on all that tried to haunt him, and instead just live in the present. His life was _good_ , what point was there to laying in bed at night, letting himself grow sad over thoughts of _would’ve, should’ve, could’ves_?

Everyone had expected Harry to become an Auror. Hell, Harry had expected for himself to become and Auror. It was all he’d really thought of doing growing up, all he’d been able to see in his future. He’d spent his entire life fighting: fighting Dudley and his gang of bullies, fighting Voldemort and his minions and his entire war, fighting the press as they pestered and preened and destroyed what was supposed to finally be his _peace_  by never leaving him the hell alone.

And after all of that, after the war was over, after Harry had learned to hide from the press and blown up at them enough times to encourage them to leave him alone — he was tired of fighting. He was tired of getting hurt and being in danger and worrying about everyone and everything. He was _tired_ , and buying a bookstore, investing in it and building it up from the ground, wasn’t half as exhausting as the rest of his life had seemed to be. It was wonderful, actually, fun and exciting and cozy and comfortable.

He went home at the end of the day, half the time after visiting Ron and Hermione, and he got to sleep in his bed and feel completely safe in doing so. He was no longer living a life of fear and danger. Really, he was ready for the next adventure life had to give him, which was — well, this.

“Ugh, oh my God,” the muggle said, flopping onto the bed next to Harry and panting loudly. Harry was sated, yes, but not sated enough to let a muggle fall asleep in his bed and be the first thing he had to interact with upon waking up.

“All right,” Harry said, sitting up slightly and looking at the muggle. Handsome, really. A little lousy in bed, but he certainly did the job.

“You kicking me out?” the muggle — wow, had Harry even caught his name? It was like John, or something, right? — said, laughing as if he thought this was incredulous. Harry just nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “I have an early morning tomorrow.”

“I could make it a _good_  morning,” Maybe-John said flirtily, sliding his hand across the bed and onto Harry’s thigh with his eyebrows raised.

“I have a _really_  early morning,” Harry insisted, and with that he ushered Maybe-John out of his apartment, pulling on a pair of boxers along the way.

Okay, maybe _this_  wasn’t exactly the next adventure in life, but it was close to it. Harry couldn’t deny his desire to just… be with someone. To have someone to come home to. To have someone to cook for. To have someone to wake up next to…

It was hard, obviously. Meeting any good witch or wizard meant having to slough through all the creeps and Harry Potter fanatics and money-hungry-slugs. It was easier to pull muggles home from nightclubs and convince himself that love would come soon. It’d always been something that was so _future_ , something he didn’t have to worry about in the present, except now was the future he’d always been thinking of and he was still alone and still desperate for someone to be with.

Come morning, he’d shoved all uncomfortable, love-desperate thoughts from his mind and rolled out of bed with his usual unenthusiastic fervor. He followed his routine, showering and brushing his teeth and scarfing down a bagel before he got ready to Apparate. For a second, he spared a thought for Scorpius, convinced his head would shrink, and then he was slipping through the familiar wards of The Nook and settling down behind the counter.

The store was still a disaster. He wasn’t open on the weekends, and though he could’ve come in and made a dent in the mess that’d ensued after Scorp’s ill-timed shelf climbing, he hadn’t felt up for it. Plus, he had to admit he was slightly curious as to whether Draco would actually show up. He’d offered to come in the very next day, but Harry had insisted that even he wouldn’t be here.

But now he _was_  here and the mess looked daunting and draining. It’d take more than a few waves of his wand to put everything back in order. And Merlin, his shelving system... It made more sense in action than in theory, really. Hermione had tried to get Harry to reorganize in here about a million times, but Harry always refused.

“Won’t be that hard,” Harry muttered to himself, creeping towards the stacks, still half-fallen and leaning against each other. He kicked a book away from himself, raising a hand to levitate the shelves back into an upright position —

The bell jingled. Harry spun around, already talking. “Sorry, we’re not open y—”

“It’s just me, Potter,” Draco said, waving him off and stepping into the building, as if they were more familiar with each other than having seen each other just twice in the past several years. Harry was having trouble responding to that, his mouth kind of hanging open. Really, he hadn’t expected for Draco to show up. And if he did, not as early as Harry did.

Finally, Harry found his voice. He cleared his throat. “Harry,” he corrected, and he snatched his wand off the counter and turned back towards the stacks.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” Draco said loftily. “Harry,” he added.

“What?”

“With the silly wand-waving,” Draco said, flicking his finger through the air exaggeratedly as he did. He came to stand beside Harry, leaning comfortably against the counter beside him. “You weren’t going to use it, were you? You were going to do wandless magic.”

Harry raised his wand, righting the stacks with a muttered breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“Don’t play dumb, Potter. It doesn’t suit you.” Harry opened his mouth. “Harry,” Draco corrected, rolling his eyes.

Harry smirked at him, summoning a few books into his arms and looking at the titles. He couldn’t remember where he’d had them off the top of his head...

“So where’s Scorpius?” Harry asked, clambering over books and into the aisle nearest to reach an empty shelf. He was pretty sure he kept the more famous authors over here, and he vaguely recognized the name on the book he was holding, so…

“He’s back at the Manor with my mother,” Draco answered. He was leaning over the counter, having pulled Harry’s ledger closer to him and flicked it open. Harry never had finished going through it, and now with the books all unorganized, he was going to have to start over. “Don’t think he’d appreciate having to sit still in here for so long. Plus, he already made this mess in the first place…”

“I already told you, it’s fine.” Harry insisted, shoving the books he was holding onto the shelf, figuring if it was the wrong place he would know soon enough.

“I’m sure you think so,” Draco said, still squinting down at the ledger, now looking kind of confused. Harry didn’t blame him. “How do organize these shelves, anyway? How should we start?”

“It kind of doesn’t make sense, at first,” Harry began. “Over here is like, books that get purchased the most often? Except it changes pretty frequently… And over here I’ve got kind of a popular authors section. And then, over here, I go alphabetically by last name until we reach the end of the shelf. But then, on the next shelf, I go alphabetically by title? Because it seems wrong to start not from the A’s, and all the A authors were already used on the last shelf.” Draco was looking at him like he was crazy, his mouth hanging open. Harry cleared his throat. “And the rest I just put in rainbow order over on this wall ‘cause it looks cool.”

“For Merlin’s sake,” Draco said, his expression so incredulous is bordered on exasperated.

“I know it kind of doesn’t make sense at first —”

“No,” Draco cut it. “No, it doesn’t make sense at all. How the hell do you find anything in this place?”

“Well, if it’s not popular and the author’s last name is after M, I usually check the alphabetical area,” Harry explained. “Unless the title starts with like a Z or something — then I go straight to the rainbow section…”

Draco was massaging his temples. “How do you even make any sales?” It didn’t really seem to be a question that was directed at him, more like it was directed at the universe, but Harry answered anyway.

“Most people already have a book in mind.”

“We’re reorganizing this.”

“Draco —”

“No, I’m serious. Besides, it’s near impossible to read through that ledger because of your idiotic way of organizing. We’ll do it by subject — magical creatures, house-work spells, fiction. You could have a section for books that Hogwarts students might find useful…”

Draco didn’t even give Harry a chance to argue. He just started sorting, picking up books and levitating them into piles and muttering under his breath. Harry followed suit, figuring it’d be easier to listen to him, and also… Well, maybe he was right about the whole ledger situation, and if that was the case, he’d be glad to do whatever he could to fix it.

Several times, Harry caught Draco watching him cast spells, as if he was expecting to find that Harry had abandoned his wand and started up with wandless magic. Every time he caught Draco looking, he raised his eyebrows expectantly, just waiting for Draco to try to say something.

Wandless magic wasn’t so easy a feat. Most wizards found it an impossible task to accomplish, and even Harry had nearly driven himself crazy trying to master it. But for the first few years after the war, he’d been so paranoid about everything that he couldn’t help himself. He kept imagining breaking his wand again, or having it stolen, and being without his wand all over again, just like those months he’d spent in forests with Hermione. And this time, there might not be an easy fix, no Elder wand to _reparo_  it…

So, yes, paranoia had driven Harry to learn wandless magic. But it was better like this. It was dead useful, really, and he’d been in enough situations to come to really appreciate it. There’d been last week with Scorpius, of course, but there’d also been other things, like dark wizards popping out at Harry on the street, apparently still loyal to Voldemort despite all these years. There was something incredibly satisfying about defeating someone in a duel even after they’d stolen your wand…

Still, Harry didn’t go flaunting his talents now. He didn’t need any extra attention, after all, and even though he doubted Draco would ever run to the prophet to tell them about Harry’s wandless feats, he wasn’t about to go and break his old habits. He rarely even used it around Ron and Hermione, after all.

Hours passed, the book sorting and rearranging taking both time and effort on their part. Draco kept rolling his eyes and bossing Harry around, having a seemingly endless list of why certain books should go where, such as why the potions books would be better kept besides the spell books rather than the cook books, for whatever reason.

Few customers came in, though when they did, they always laughed and chatted about what could have possibly gone on inside The Nook, _deary me!_  By the time all the books were sorted, a portion of them actually arranged on shelves, the sun was high in the sky and their stomachs were protesting for something to eat.

“You seriously don’t have to stay here all day,” Harry tried to insist, but Draco just glared at him.

“Imagine if I left now,” he scoffed. “The next time I came back they’d all be arranged in height order.”

Harry convinced him to at least let him pick up lunch, then, and soon he was disappearing out the door and wandering down Diagon Alley. It must’ve been years since he’d last done this, walked down Diagon Alley in the middle of a weekday without having closed early. An anxious voice in the back of his mind wondered if it was wise to leave the shop under Draco’s care. After all, a customer could come in, and then what? Would Draco know what to do? Draco, who had likely not worked a day of sales in his entire life?

But Harry pushed those worries aside, deciding it hardly mattered. Barely any customers had even come in today, so it wasn’t very likely that they’d start showing up now. He ducked into a little sandwich shop at the end of the street, smiling when the owner called out, “Well hello, Mr. Potter!”

Harry ordered two sandwiches, both of them on fluffy, crumbly croissant rolls, and headed back to The Nook, their lunches held in a little bag. When he came through the door, he froze, spotting Draco behind the counter with a customer in front of him. Neither of them appeared to notice Harry’s arrival and Harry watched as Draco pulled out a drawer, running his finger down the list inside of it and saying, “Yeah, that’ll be 16 sickles.”

The witch before him handed over the coins and thanked him, before turning around with her book now in a bag and spotting Harry. “Oh, Mr. Potter!” she greeted genially. “Good on you for finally giving yourself a break. You should’ve hired employees ages ago!”

“Oh, thank you, but I didn’t —”

“Have a nice day!” she said, still grinning broadly, and she disappeared from the store.

“Sorry,” Draco said immediately. “I didn’t know when you’d be back so I didn’t want to tell her to wait…”

“It’s fine,” Harry assured, waving him off. It’d been the very thing he was worried about, and yet it’d gone perfectly smoothly despite Harry’s fretting. “I hope you like ham and cheese,” he added, holding up the bag.

As it turned out, Draco did like ham and cheese. The floor was still covered in books, though now in stacks, and so they ended up sitting cross legged on the counter, facing each other and trying not to drop crumbs all over their pants.

“I’m surprised you’re so good at this,” Harry said, gesturing around them. “All the sorting and organizing.”

“How come?”

“Well, you grew up with a bunch of house elves, didn’t you?”

Draco nodded slowly, a bit warily. He _was_  looking at the best friend of Hermione Granger, who had slowly but steadily dredged up rights for house elves and was striving to go even further and free them completely. “I did,” he said, “But I’ve always been pretty organized myself. I like stuff like this.” Draco took another bite of his sandwich, and then he said around a mouthful, “I’m surprised you’re good with kids.”

“You think I’m good with kids?”

“You’ve been good with Scorpius,” he said, shrugging. Harry was almost surprised he could act like this, talk with his mouth full and sit on counters. It so contradicted the prim and proper image he’d had of him in his head, for some reason.

“Ron and Hermione have kids,” Harry offered as an explanation. “And I have a godson, Teddy. And I teach classes here sometimes.” Harry gestured with his sandwich as he spoke. “And, you know. Scorpius is a good kid.”

Draco’s face lit up, that same way Ron and Hermione’s did whenever Rose or Hugo did anything particularly worthy of praise. “I’m glad you think so.”

“You’ve clearly taught him well. He loves you.”

Draco still looked delighted, but then his expression darkened. “I love him so much,” he said seriously. “But it sucks, you know? So many people just… _glare_  at him in public. This one bitch yelled at him, this one time… All because he’s my son. Like, he had nothing to do with the shit I did, you know?” He looked up from his sandwich, having been staring at it intently throughout his little speech, only to find Harry looking thunderous.

“That’s sick,” Harry said. “You’d think if I could get over the war then everybody could,” he said, his laugh hollow and grating. But even though he was annoyed, the atmosphere having become heavier between the two of them, Draco smiled. He kind of cheersed his sandwich at Harry before taking another bite, the tension leaking out of his shoulders.

After lunch, Harry ended up sending Draco home, insisted he’d been at it long enough and swearing he wouldn’t touch a single book until Draco came back. And he did come back, the very next day. They got back to organizing and ate lunch together again. And Draco came the day after that, as well, and the day after _that_ , despite all the books having been put back on the shelves, wonderfully organized and accessible and Merlin, why hadn’t Harry done this years ago?

But still, Draco showed up, surprising Harry after his rather depressing morning of realizing how much he’d liked the company Draco had provided, his dry humor and quick wit, the way he’d shared exasperated looks with Harry whenever a particularly difficult customer came in. So, after having convinced himself that Draco had more than paid his debt and didn’t have any reason to come back, Draco showed up with a familiar bag in hand, holding up the lunch and raising an eyebrow in question.

Harry grinned so widely it made his cheeks ache. He and Draco talked, and talked, and talked, everything between them so natural and easy, something Harry never would’ve imagined for the two of them.

And then, when some sauce dripped out of Draco’s sandwich and below his lip, Harry found himself captivated, watching intently as Draco licked at it. It was just…

Well, Draco was really attractive, okay? And he wasn’t anything like what Harry had thought he was like all those years ago. He was sarcastic and surprisingly hilarious and such a great dad that it was plain to see. And Harry had a _thing_  for hot, funny, nice guys. Like… who didn’t?

So, yes. Harry watched Draco with a newfound fascination as the beginnings of _something_  stirred in his lower stomach. And then Draco looked up. And whatever he saw in the way Harry was looking at him made his eyes darken. And he put his sandwich down on the counter, dusted off his hands, and hopped off it so that he could come to stand directly next to Harry, where he then kissed him.

For a second, Harry spared himself the thought of — _wait, he likes blokes?_  — before giving up on thinking entirely and pulling Draco closer.

And this was _fine_ , okay? They were two adults, perfectly capable of making their own, adult decisions. And this was _Harry’s_  shop. If he wanted to defile it by pressing Draco up against one of the shelves in the back then fine, so be it.

But Merlin, Harry really did feel like a teenager again. He was panting against Draco’s mouth, as hard as he possibly could be as he grinded up against the other man, who gasped into his mouth and pulled him closer, closer, closer.

Harry groaned against Draco’s lips, moving faster, pressing harder. He could already feel himself getting close, embarrassingly enough, but at that point he didn’t even care if he came in his pants, and it didn’t seem like Draco minded either.

That was, until —

 _Crack_.

They both flinched, jolting apart from each other at the loud sound of Apparition. Who the hell had gotten past Harry’s wards?

“Draco?”

Harry and Draco stared at each other with wide, shocked eyes before hastening to straighten themselves out, smoothing shirts and re-fastening belts — when had they’d undone those, in the first place? — and, in Draco’s case, reaching forward and trying to flatten Harry’s hair with a glare. “Your hair is horrendous,” he hissed. Harry batted his hands away.

“I don’t have sex-hair!” he said, swatting Draco again when he attempted to put his hands back in Harry’s hair. “You didn’t even touch my hair! It always looks like this!”

Draco froze, his eyebrows pulled together, before he straightened up and cleared his throat. “Right.”

“Draco, darling?” It was Narcissa. Her elegant voice rang out between the stacks, and Draco stepped into view.

“Over here, mother.”

Harry, also stepping into visibility, watched as Scorpius, who’d been clinging to his grandmother’s hand, let go and charge towards Draco.

“Papa!” he cheered, not slowing down in the slighted as he raced forward. Draco swung him into the air with a grunt, hugging him against his body.

“You’re getting heavy,” he claimed.

“Am not!” Scorpius argued, although he allowed Draco to set him back down.

“What are you two doing back here?” Narcissa asked, peering back behind the shelves curiously. “And it’s nice to see you, of course, Harry,” she added. She spoke like they were old friends. Harry just smiled at her, trying to pretend like he hadn’t been getting hot and heavy with her son in his own store mere moments before.

“We’re just putting the finishing touches on everything,” Draco said airily, brushing her off. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Scorpius insisted we come. Why didn’t you tell me it was Harry Potter’s shop you’ve been visiting?”

If Harry wasn’t mistaken, Draco’s cheeks grew pink at that statement.

“It didn’t come up,” he claimed. And then, “Scorpius can stay with me.”

“Are you sure?” Narcissa asked. Harry got the sudden feeling that the only reason she’d come was to get a good look at everything — at Harry and her son getting along. “He hasn’t had lunch…”

“He can have the rest of my sandwich,” Draco said, trying to shoo her away. It was only another few minutes before she was gone, and then Draco was sending him a half-apologetic half-embarrassed look. They returned to the counter and let Scorp eat his fill.

In the end, Harry thought that was that. An accidental occurrence that had taken place through chance and circumstance and would probably never be mentioned again.

He was wrong.

He was already dressed and ready for bed — teeth brushed and freshly showered — when the doorbell rang. It gave Harry pause, wondering who could possibly be at his door at this hour. He doubted it was either Ron or Hermione, who usually gave him some form of advanced notice, especially with the kids on their hand. And sure, Teddy had run off that one summer and showed up at Harry’s door, but that was really a one-off, wasn’t it? And it wasn’t like he got solicitors around here…

In the end, curiosity won out. He opened the door, blinking in surprise when he saw Draco standing outside it with his arms crossed. Harry suddenly felt silly, standing before him in boxers and a t-shirt.

“Draco,” Harry greeted. “Um. What are you doing here?”

Draco rolled his eyes, pushing past Harry and letting himself into the apartment. “I’m a single father of a seven-year-old boy who is widely hated and _very nearly_  got laid,” he said. “Why do _you_  think I’m here?”

That was good enough for Harry. He stood there for a moment, debating offering Draco a drink or something, before he just shrugged and strode forward. “Bedroom’s this way,” he instructed, and Draco fell in step behind him, glancing around curiously as they went. Once in Harry’s room, Draco meticulously untied his shoes and set them by the door, observing the room with interest as he began to undo his tie.

“Surprised there aren’t Gryffindor colors in here,” he muttered, tossing his tie onto a nearby armchair.

“I use Gryffindor sheets when these ones are dirty,” Harry admitted, grinning widely as he let himself bounce backwards on the bed, splaying out across the pillows.

“Tragic.”

“Stop taking off your clothes and get over here,” Harry instructed. Draco stopped to raise an eyebrow at him, half his shirt’s buttons undone.

“You do realize I’m here for sex, right? That includes taking off my clothes.”

“I’ll do that,” Harry promised. “Just c’mon.”

Draco sighed but obliged, and the sight of Draco crawling across a bed seemed wildly out of place in Harry’s mind, just like when he’d first seen him sitting on a counter. Then again, he’d gotten used to that. Maybe he’d have the chance to get used to this too.

Kissing Draco was, without trying to sound like a complete prat, _phenomenal_. He clearly knew what he was doing with his tongue, and the way he touched Harry as he kissed him, one hand scratching lightly at the back of his neck while the other squeezed his hip, was driving him insane.

Harry couldn’t help arching against Draco, his fingers sliding down his chest and undoing his buttons as he did. He pushed his shirt over his shoulders, his hands immediately seeking bare skin, running over his smooth back, coming down to squeeze his hips.

Harry flipped them over, relishing in the small gasp Draco let out when he did, and he started kissing down Draco’s body, from jaw to collarbone to nipple — Draco arched his back with a choked off whine, _noted_  — to navel to waistband. Draco was panting, looking down at Harry with mussed hair and half-lidded eyes, his face flushed.

Merlin, he must be so sensitive. He’d said it himself, hadn’t he? He was a single father with no time for sex.

“Can I —” Harry began, his fingers just barely wrapping around the button of Draco’s trousers, when Draco interrupted him.

“Dear Salazar, _please_ ,” he said, and Harry grinned, unbuttoning his trousers and shoving both them and his underwear part-way down his thighs. It was too much work to take them all the way off, and before Draco could protest, Harry was licking a strip up his cock, from base to tip. Draco groaned, tilting his head back and arching his hips. He tried to spread his legs further, but they were trapped by his own pants.

Harry continued to tease him, tracing his tongue over his dick and leaving kitten-licks at the top, holding Draco’s hips steady as he tried to twist and turn and arch into Harry’s mouth. And then Harry kissed along the side of his shaft, nosed as the base and mouthed at his balls, and Draco finally reached down and shoved a hand in Harry’s hair.

“I swear to Merlin, if you don’t —”

Harry, who realized he liked cutting Draco off, used this as the perfect opportunity to wrap his mouth around the head of Draco’s cock, making him replace his words with a whine.

He began bobbing his head, then, taking Draco deeper and deeper and laving his tongue against the underside of his cock as he did. He had a good sized cock — nice and thick in his mouth, flushed red at the tip — and Harry did all that he could to make Draco continue to make those adorable and embarrassing little noises, hitches in breath and aborted gasps and moans.

He wrapped his hand around what he couldn’t quite reach, paying special attention to the head, which he swirled his tongue around and _sucked_ , moving slowly upward until pulling off with an obscene _pop_.

“Fuck,” Draco gasped, and then he was tugging Harry upward, his hair sweaty against his forehead. “I need you to fuck me.”

Harry couldn’t help the longing moan that escaped him, and without thinking he flung his hand out and summoned the bottle of lube into it.

With a gasp, Draco shoved Harry backward and shouted, “Aha!”

“I — what?” Harry managed, now sprawled on his back with a mostly-undressed Draco in his lap.

“You _do_  do wandless magic!” Draco cajoled, and Harry flushed, dropping the lube on the bed.

“I have no idea what you’re —”

“Shut the fuck up,” Draco growled, swooping in to kiss him again. He shoved the bottle back into Harry’s hand, and the two of them struggled to get his pants further down, so that he could spread his legs and Harry could —

“Ah,” Draco said, a soft, satisfied little sound as Harry eased a finger into him.

“You’re so tight,” Harry said, rubbing Draco’s back with his free hand as he practically melted against him.

“It’s been way too long,” he groaned, huffing into Harry’s neck. “Also, you’re wearing way too many clothes.”

Harry lifted his free hand and concentrated, vanishing his clothes with a spell. Draco gasped, his fingers now scrabbling against Harry’s bare skin, and he groaned low in his throat. “You bastard.”

“Does wandless magic turn you on?”

“Not until now,” Draco said, and he sucked in a breath when Harry crooked his finger inside of him, making Draco’s knees shake from where he was holding himself up above Harry.

Harry continued to prepare him, teasing him all the while. He added finger after finger, slowing down when Draco’s breath hitched, angling his fingers in the opposite direction after hearing him moan.

“Ugh, fuck you,” he groaned into Harry’s hair, making him laugh. He finally rolled Draco off of him, withdrawing his fingers and getting more lube to spread onto his cock.

“I intend to,” Harry hummed, and Draco rolled his eyes, the attempt at annoyance falling through due to the sheer desire he was protruding through every pore, his body just barely shaking in wait for Harry to press inside.

Harry did so slowly. Not just because it’d been a while since Draco had likely done anything like this, but also because Harry could see how desperate he was. It was fun to watch him squirm, to watch him pant as he tried to maneuver himself under Harry, tried to get him to finally do what he wanted.

When Harry bottomed out, Draco groaned, clenching around him and making Harry accidentally stutter forward, muffling his gasp on Draco’s lips.

“Just fuck me,” Draco said breathlessly, trying to arch his hips into Harry’s. “C’mon, just fuck me already.”

“How ‘bout you stop being bossy and let me make this good for you?” Harry grunted. He caged Draco in with his elbows on either side of his head, having risen up to fuck into him while Draco’s legs wrapped around Harry’s waist.

“Can’t see how you’re gonna do that when you won’t even fuck me properly,” Draco complained, and Harry shut him up but pulling out and slamming back in in one hard thrust. Draco grunted, his eyes hazy with pleasure, and Harry took to honestly teasing him.

He could tell how badly Draco wanted him to go fast, to fuck him long and hard and leave him sore and moaning in the sheets beneath him. So instead, he made him wait for it. He went so slow it was torturous, dragging himself out as slowly as he could manage before pushing back in leisurely, barely letting himself brush against Draco’s prostate.

Each time, Draco’s breath hitched, and each time, his fingers clenched on Harry’s biceps. Harry could tell he was making him even more sensitive, his entire body responsive to the lightest touch, desperate for anything it could get.

Harry was loving it, loving making Draco react like this, his breaths getting pitchier as the pleasure became more localized and intense. His face contorting as his fingers gripped Harry harder, his breaths starting to turn into barely-there whines.

And then, with Draco finally totally and completely unexpecting, he began fucking him in earnest. He pulled almost all the way out, and without any warning, slammed back inside, directly into Draco’s prostate.

Draco cried out, his nails digging so hard into Harry they would definitely leave marks. Harry didn’t stop there. He kept pounding into Draco, the angle perfect and Draco making sure it was known, if the sounds he was making meant anything.

Harry lost control, fucking Draco so hard his body kind of bounced along the bed with every thrust. Draco started making, “Ah! Ah!” sounds every time Harry sunk into him, which was just coupled with Harry’s own grunts.

They clung to each other tighter, bodies slipping along one another as they were slick with sweat. Harry had shoved his hand into Draco’s hair and started tugging on it, something that he wasn’t aware of himself doing, although he certainly liked the look of Draco’s hair losing some of its pristine style.

“Fuck, Harry,” Draco gasped, his eyes closed and his long neck arched, the pale column of his throat just begging to be bitten, so Harry did. “Ah! I — I’m close, I’m — fuck.”

Harry grunted his acknowledgement, fucking Draco even harder in response. He shoved a hand between their bodies and fisted Draco’s cock, tugging on it hard and fast, a match to the pace he had set. Draco was panting into the air between them, his legs growing tighter and tighter along the sides of Harry’s hips.

Draco came first, exploding between Harry’s fingers and coating his stomach with a loud moan, clenching around Harry sporadically.

Harry debating pulling out to finish off, knowing Draco would be over-sensitive after having just come, but his eyes flickered open — wearing that familiar dazed, just-fucked post-orgasm look — and he grabbed Harry’s ass and held him in. Harry renewed his movements in vigor after that, dropping his head onto Draco’s shoulder and panting as he grew closer and closer to the edge himself.

In the end, it was hearing Draco’s little over-sensitive whines that set him off, making him groan and slam into Draco, pressing himself as deep inside as he could as he filled him with his warmth.

Afterwards, he collapsed on Draco, humming into his skin and tracing his fingers gently through his hair.

“You gonna clean us up?” Draco murmured, sounding sort of breathless, probably due to Harry’s weight on top of him.

“Wandlessly?”

“Ha-ha,” Draco said tonelessly, but Harry vanished the mess wandlessly anyway. Draco then shoved Harry off him, cuddling up to his side and pulling the comforter over the both of them.

“You staying the night?” Harry asked as Draco buried his head into his shoulder, his breathing already slowing down.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed. “Mother’ll watch Scorp.”

Harry squeezed Draco tighter to his side in response, letting sleep and the warm afterglow of sex overtake him.

—

Harry wasn’t used to waking up with someone in his bed. He always made sure to kick out anyone he brought home after all the fun activities. He never wanted to deal with the morning after, didn’t want to have to make them breakfast and ease them out and brush off their furthering advances.

This made waking up pressed against someone a rare experience. For a moment, Harry frowned in confusion, curiously naked, and even more curiously, with his leg hooked over someone else’s.

Memories came rushing in after he opened his eyes, privy to a tuft of white-blond hair peaking out above the comforter. Draco was sleeping face down, his back rising and falling slowly with each breath. The blankets were tangled around their legs, leaving Draco’s perky ass in plain sight. His skin looked so light compared to Harry’s.

That’s when Harry got the idea to wake Draco up. Hopefully a bit more pleasantly than usual…

Carefully untangling himself, Harry scooted down the bed, edging a sleeping Draco’s legs apart so he could kneel in between them.

He deciding to start at Draco’s lower back, kissing gently at first, making his way down his gorgeous, smooth skin. And then he started to kiss a bit harder, his hands anchoring themselves on Draco’s hips before sliding up along his sides. And then, he edged one under Draco, wrapping his hand around his cock, his thumb rubbing firmly at the tip.

He could feel Draco waking up. His breaths coming faster, evident through the rise and fall of his body, the sound of his breaths buried into the bedsheets. He let out a little noise as Harry kissed the sensitive skin of his inner thighs.

“Mmm… Harry?” Draco croaked.

“Good morning,” Harry hummed, and he kissed a bit higher…

“What are you —” Draco cut himself off with a gasp as Harry skipped ahead in his teasing, casting a quick cleaning spell before licking a broad stripe up sensitive skin. Draco’s previously relaxed body tensed, his breath hitching as his abs tightened against Harry’s hand, still lodged underneath his body.

“Holy shit,” Draco gasped. Harry ignored him, dragging his hand out from under him so he could instead spread his asscheeks apart, licking hard at the sensitive puckered skin between.

Draco was making all kinds of noises beneath him, squirming desperately against the bed as he gasped and moaned. Harry, determined to make Draco make every noise possible, wriggled his tongue inside, grinning at the keen Draco made in response.

It wasn’t long before Harry was edging a finger in alongside his tongue as well, pressing into the warmth and searching for Draco’s prostate as he continued to lap at Draco, his chin becoming thoroughly slicked in spit.

Harry a-hundred-percent expected Draco to come like this, spread out before him like a feast, feeling completely helpless as he writhed against the bed. What he didn’t except was for Draco to reach back and shove him away with a gasp, sitting up on his knees and walking towards Harry on them.

“Turn around,” he instructed, panting, as Harry rubbed an arm across his mouth. “Need to fuck you.”

Harry groaned, obliging and getting onto his hands and knees. Most of the time, he refused to bottom for any of the muggles he brought home with him. It felt more personal, like more of a commitment, and he couldn’t deny that he was incredibly sensitive down there.

Still, he didn’t even think to argue with Draco, the idea of having him inside of him making him heady and desperate.

Draco found the lube from somewhere, wherever it had disappeared to the night before, and the only warning Harry got was a loud _pop_  of the cap before cold liquid was being drizzled directly onto his ass. He jerked forward in surprise, Draco’s hand soon appearing and rubbing the lube onto his asshole, right before he eased a finger inside.

Harry moaned, breathless, and Draco started pumping it in and out of him, entirely aware and receptive to Harry’s every movement and sound. It was like he was aware of Harry on a different level, and Harry just stayed there, letting Draco work him perfectly.

It wasn’t long before he was stretched and ready, Draco lining himself up and pressing a hand in between Harry’s shoulder blades, pressing him face-down into the mattress. Harry relaxed as Draco pushed into him, holding himself still and breathing slowly, waiting for the stretch to stop, to become pleasureful.

He didn’t have to wait for the stretch to stop when Draco pressed directly into his prostate, Harry’s moan ringing out in the bedroom in response. The burn of the stretch instantly felt good, pain and pleasure like salty and sweet.

Draco reacted to Harry’s pleasure, pulling out and pressing back in expertly. It was clear that, despite him having not had the chance to do this recently, he hadn’t lost any of his skill.

His movements turned Harry into putty, making him melt against the bed, barely able to stay upright because of how much his body was shaking. Draco started murmuring things, saying how Harry looked so perfect, how he felt so good around him.

Harry clenched around Draco’s cock, wanting to feel him more and delighting in the moan Draco choked out in response. His hand came forward and fisted into Harry’s hair, pulling his head back.

“Wish there…” Draco panted. “Was a mirror…”

“Fuck,” Harry gasped, in instant agreement. It took him a few tries, his ability to concentrate while getting fucked incredibly compromised, but he eventually managed to make the wall before them reflective, acting like a giant mirror.

He and Draco let out matching moans at the (blurry, for Harry) view, Harry bent over, hair a disaster, with Draco on his knees behind him, chest flushed pink as he pounded into Harry.

Harry came without warning, seeing as how Draco had wrapped a hand around his cock, the pleasure immediately at a peak. He made a mess of the sheets in front of him, moaning loudly as the feeling of Draco still pounding into him as he grew more and more sensitive, his moans turning into whimpers…

Draco kept fucking him, just as Harry had done to Draco, and Harry let his head collapse against the bed, his hands fisting in the sheets as Draco groaned lowly before filling Harry with unmistakeable warmth. He kept going, fucking himself through the aftershocks, before collapsing onto Harry’s back, panting.

“Fuck,” he groaned, still inside Harry.

Catching his breath as well, Harry said, “Want me to make you breakfast?”

—

Life became… kind of a whirlwind, after that.

Working at the shop became a matter of waiting. Waiting to see if Draco would visit him today, and when he would show up, and for how long he would stay. They still ate lunch together multiple times a week, but many of these lunch-dates devolved into them ending up in the back of the store again, conveniently hidden by the bookshelves.

They had sleepovers all the time. Half the time Draco didn’t even warn Harry, he just showed up at his door. Or, a couple times, when Harry hadn’t answered the door soon enough, he’d Apparated in.

“Holy shit!” Harry had gasped, standing in the shower when Draco had walked into the bathroom. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“Your wards are shitty,” Draco had said flippantly. “Any ex-Death Eater could get in, if they knew where you lived.” With that, Draco had joined him in the shower. And later, he’d helped Harry fix up the holes in his wards, though Harry noticed he conveniently left a hole for his magical signature.

They didn’t just have sleepovers at Harry’s little apartment, either. Draco had even taken him back to his house a few times, his bed huge and expensive and a luxury Harry had never realized existed.

On one of these such nights, long after falling asleep, they were woken by a visitor.

“Papa,” Scorpius whispered, trying to shake Draco awake. Harry had always been a light sleeper, so his eyes flew open, his limbs going stiff as he held in a gasp.

The truth was, he didn’t exactly know what he and Draco _were_. They spent plenty of time together, shared meals and watched Harry’s telly, but most of the time it was preceded or followed by sex. Harry didn’t want to be as presumptuous as to assume they were something more than they were, and he still hadn’t gotten the guts to actually ask. So obviously, neither of them had mentioned anything to Scorpius, but now Harry was here, in Draco’s bed…

He kicked Draco in the shin, Draco grumbling as he woke up. Scorpius still hadn’t seemed to realize Draco had company.

“Papa?”

“Mmm… Scorp. Wha’s up?” Draco murmured.

“I had a nightmare.”

“You want to get in?” Draco said sleepily. Harry kicked him again, and Draco inhaled, his shoulders tightening as he realized he wasn’t alone.

“Yes,” Scorpius was already saying, clambering onto the bed. In a panic, Harry closed his eyes and concentrated, magicking on a pair of underwear and hoping he’d managed to do the same for Draco.

“Wait, wait, wait — Scorp,” Draco said, his voice still a scratchy whisper. “Papa had a sleepover last night. You remember what a sleepover is, right? You’ve had one before.”

“Yeah…”

  
“So Harry slept over last night. Is that okay?”

Evidently thinking it was perfectly fine, Scorpius continued to climb over Draco. He plopped down in between him and Harry, who was pretending to be asleep more out of panic than anything else.

“Did Harry sleep over because you love him?” Scorpius asked, his voice also a whisper.

Draco made a choking sound. “Um —”

“Is he gonna be my new dad?”

“Go to sleep, you little brat,” Draco said, though the affection in his voice belied his words. Scorpius giggled, and Harry felt him squirming around, cuddling into Draco. Harry opened his eyes then, making eye contact with Draco and smirking. Draco glared at him, though the effect was totally ruined by the fact that he was holding Scorpius against him, looking like the perfect picture of a dad.

Harry made kissy faces at Draco, who glared at him harder and flipped him off with the hand behind Scorp’s head. Harry just rolled his eyes before closing them again, letting himself fall back asleep.

And when he woke up…

Harry’s eyes blinked open, immediately graced with the sight of the little boy cuddling him. Scorpius’ hair was a horrendous mess, tangled all around his head as he splayed out across Harry, his mouth wide open as he breathed. Harry couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his lips, and he reached a hand up and rubbed it along Scorpius’ back.

The sound of a throat clearing drew Harry’s attention away, and he turned to look at where Draco was sitting cross-legged beside him, a cup of tea in hand. “Good morning,” he said pleasantly. He seemed unable to stop smiling at the sight of Harry cuddling with his son.

“Good morning,” Harry whispered.

Draco reached over and ran his hand through Harry’s hair before shoving his glasses onto his face. “Want to stay for breakfast?” he asked. His bare foot was nudging against Harry’s calf, and Harry shifted in order to trap it between his legs. “We do pancakes on Saturdays,” he added persuasively.

“I’m more of a waffle guy, myself,” Harry complained jokingly. He was grinning. “But I’d love to stay.”

Draco lifted his mug to hide his smile, but he couldn’t fool Harry. He could see right through him.


End file.
